


the city carries ruins in its heart

by nex_et_nox



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Identity Reveal, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nex_et_nox/pseuds/nex_et_nox
Summary: “Do you trust him?” Jim asked.“Yes,” said Batman, unhesitating.He didn’t know if he would ever like Red Hood. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to like working with him. He wanted to arrest the man. But if Batman trusted him, that would have to be enough for Jim.Jim Gordon's evolving perspective on Red Hood.





	the city carries ruins in its heart

Jim didn’t flinch anymore when Batman appeared out of nowhere. At the beginning, he had – back in the early days, when he didn’t know enough about Batman, when he was still skeptical about what good a vigilante could do for Gotham. Now, he wasn’t surprised by Batman.

He _was_ wary of the fact that Red Hood was only a step behind him.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t arrest him right now?” Jim asked Batman.

“He’s with me,” Batman said. “He has intel on the Necchi case.”

Jim was highly unimpressed. “He’s a crime lord.”

“Not anymore,” Hood said. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, and he was acting almost – defensive.

Not that Jim really cared too much about Hood’s _feelings_ on the matter.

“There are still a _lot_ of things I would love to pin on you,” Jim told Hood.

The ones he could prove, anyway. There were even more crimes that he couldn’t conclusively prove were Hood’s doing, and he almost wanted to know for his own peace of mind that any hope of actually making Hood go down for them. Though given he was working with Batman – and rumors said that he had been for almost a year now – Jim would never be able to get him for _anything,_ and he couldn’t say that that didn’t grate.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore,” Hood said, with the faintest tilt of his helmeted head toward Batman. _And good luck trying to prove it and go through Batman to get to me_ , his body language read, an echo of Jim’s own thoughts.

“That doesn’t exactly absolve you of previous crimes,” Jim said, nettled. And, because he couldn’t help himself – “Eight heads in a duffle bag?”

Hood twitched. It wasn’t a flinch, more an acknowledgement that Jim’s accusation had hit, that he knew what Jim was talking about.

_Confirmation._

All they’d had were rumors, whispers placing Hood at the scene and very scarce details of what had gone down. It was gratifying to know they’d been right.

Batman turned, very slowly, and stared at Hood.

Hood’s shoulders hunched, defensive and belligerent. “I know you knew,” he grated out. “You and Nightwing were keeping tabs on me from before I even crossed from Blüdhaven into Gotham. How did you _think_ I made people turn on Black Mask so easily?”

“I didn’t know _that_ ,” Batman said, distaste dripping from every syllable.

“Is it a surprise?” Hood asked, abruptly losing his defensive posture, loosing the stiff cant of his shoulders – like he was getting ready for a fight.

“I know the kinds of things you’re capable of,” Batman said, a non-answer that managed to imply _but I didn’t think you would do that_.

The way that Hood and the Bats worked together had confused Jim from a distance, but up close and personal he was mostly annoyed. There was a lot that he didn’t understand here; mainly, he didn’t understand why Batman trusted Hood so much.

“Christ,” Hood swore. He pulled one hand out of his jacket pocket, and Jim almost went for his gun, except Hood was already tossing whatever was in his hand toward Jim. He nearly fumbled the catch.

It was a flash drive.

Hood turned, about to walk away.

“Hood—” Batman started.

Hood whirled around to face him. “This doesn’t change anything,” he snarled. “You already knew what I am. I’ve killed _a lot_ of people; _these_ ones just happened to be within your jurisdiction, and _you didn’t know about them_.”

He stalked away, leaping over the edge of the roof and away.

“You _work_ with him?” Jim asked Batman, once he judged Hood was truly gone.

Batman was still looking in the direction Hood had disappeared off in. “Yes,” he said. “He hasn’t killed anyone in over a year. He’s playing by our rules.”

The rules of the Bats, at least. The strongest of which, Jim knew, was to never kill. All other laws were negotiable.

Jim rubbed his thumb against the casing of the drive. He considered how long he’d been in collusion with Batman, how long since he had put the Batsignal on the precinct’s roof, how long since he had taken a chance on the rumored vigilante and been _right_ to put his faith in the man.

“Do you trust him?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” said Batman, unhesitating.

He didn’t know if he would ever like Red Hood. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to like working with him. He wanted to _arrest_ the man. But if Batman trusted him, that would have to be enough for Jim.

Jim had gone this long putting his faith in Batman, and Gotham’s knight hadn’t let him down yet.

“All right,” Jim said. He slipped the flash drive into his pocket.

It would have to be enough.

* * *

Jim sighed as he walked into the bullpen and found several of his newer officers clustered around one desk, watching something on a computer.

He hoped it was at least related to a case.

He walked closer, newly filled cup of coffee in one hand, and could see that it wasn’t. It was the washed out black-and-white of a security feed, but it wasn’t anything related to an open case, because it was showcasing Nightwing and Red Hood.

Jim knew for a fact that the criminals the vigilantes were taking down had been arrested two nights previous. They were already processed and awaiting trial.

Still, he could understand why the rookies were watching this. It wasn’t like they never caught the Bats on tape (sometimes, Jim wondered if they were all metahumans, given the nearly inhuman way they seemed to be able to fade into the shadows), but it was still fairly uncommon. Especially since Oracle debuted and started erasing their tracks even further.

It was fascinating to watch the vigilantes work.

Jim didn’t like Red Hood, but he couldn’t help admire the way that he so effortlessly worked with Nightwing. They slid around each, synchronized at every perfect moment, and Jim realized that this was the first time that he had actually seen _proof_ – other than one rooftop rendezvous – that the Bats and Hood worked together.

Nightwing flashed the security camera a peace sign just before he and Hood exited the store, leaving the criminals ziptied and groaning behind them. He had obviously been aware of the camera the whole time, and a part of Jim couldn’t help but wonder if the Bats had specifically left this there, just for him to see. Tangible proof, so blatantly displayed in the easy way that Nightwing and Hood worked around each other.

He frowned thoughtfully.

His rookies were talking quietly to each other now, and Jim took a few more steps forward.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked.

One of them actually _squeaked_. Jim sincerely hoped that one never had to meet a Bat in a dark alley.

Jim walked back to his office and his paperwork and made a mental note to find his own copy of that security recording.

* * *

Training and years on the job had taught him all about how to team up with people, but that had usually been coordinating with SWAT or federal agents, not vigilantes.

They had all gone over the plan. They were simply waiting for the right moment to break in, and Jim couldn’t help but overhear as Batman pulled Hood to the side, not quite out of earshot.

The conversation was too quiet to hear individual words at first, but then Hood said, just slightly too loud, “I know how to take non-lethal shots. I was trained in that, too.”

A pause, and Batman said, “Who taught you that.” It wasn’t a question.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“ _Who_.”

“It doesn’t _fucking_ matter,” Hood said furiously, and then the argument was back to being quiet enough Jim couldn’t overhear, until—

“The teachers she got me, they were all terrible people!” Hood said. “Murderers, arms dealers, pedophiles, _child traffickers_ – of course I’m fucking proud I killed them! I was _there_. I was the _only_ one who was there, the only one who would _do_ anything about it, so don’t you fucking dare lecture me about taking scum like them out when you don’t set foot outside Gotham unless it’s a goddamn global conflict!”

Hood walked away, anger practically rolling off of him, and Jim was really ready for this night to be over.

(And, thoughtfully, he added a few things to his mental list to try and look up when he had a chance. Hood hadn’t been specific—

But maybe he had been just specific enough.)

* * *

Outside of Gotham and Batman’s jurisdiction left a whole world to cover. Jim started inside the United States, seeing if there was anything he could tie to Hood’s methodology—

Except Hood really hadn’t been specific enough. Jim didn’t think he would be able to find anything that he could conclusively tie to Hood.

The only thing that had truly changed was that he knew more about Hood.

He had been trained, purposefully and specifically.

He had been provided teachers and assistance by someone that Batman (maybe?) knew.

He had been killing long before he ever stepped foot in Gotham. (Jim had already guessed at that.)

…When he had been killing, he’d had a strict code about who he killed. Jim didn’t like that people had ended up dead, but when it came down to it, Hood had only ever killed criminals. It had been buried under the fact that Hood had briefly been a crime lord, but no innocents were harmed as a direct result of his actions.

Dammit, he should have seen that sooner.

It looked like Hood had been acting that way even back when he was training for – whatever purpose it was that he’d had, and when he’d come to Gotham (why _did_ he come to Gotham?), he’d carried on with that course. Underneath it all, it looked like he had always been acting more like a vigilante than Jim had paid attention to.

He couldn’t and didn’t condone it, but he should have seen that.

Who the hell was Red Hood? Why did he come to Gotham? Why did the Bats trust him?

Too many questions that Jim didn’t know the answer to, and doubted he ever would.

* * *

_A declaration_.

It was all he could think, staring at the picture someone had managed to snap. A stark red bat was splashed across Hood’s chest, and no matter what rumors had been going around, this was Hood finally and publically picking his side.

_He’s saying – he’s one of them_.

And Jim was pretty sure that by saying that, there was no way that Hood could ever go back now.

The Bats, the villains, the city – Hood had chosen his position, and he was going to have to stand by it for the rest of his career as a vigilante. No one would let him return to what he had been. Not after this.

Strangely, that thought was comforting.

* * *

Jim was talking to Batman – or Nightwing-Batman, as it was – and facing Robin, which was the only reason why he caught it. Even with his face shadowed by the hood, Jim could see Robin’s head tilt slightly, likely in reaction to what someone must be saying over one of their comms.

So it didn’t take Jim completely by surprise when Robin suddenly _shrieked_ in rage, followed quickly by a bellowed “ _Hood!_ ” as he made for the side of the building—

Batman didn’t look away from Jim as one gauntleted hand reached out and snagged Robin by his cape. Hell, he didn’t even falter in what he was saying.

“He’s teasing you, Robin,” Batman said, when he had finished giving Jim the rundown on their current operation.

“I’m going to stab him,” Robin seethed.

He really was the most vicious of the Robins, wasn’t he?

“No,” Batman said, and finally released Robin’s cape. Robin opened his mouth, looking ready to argue, but Batman cut him off with a hard look. Robin folded his arms and glared at the ground.

Jim looked away from Robin before the kid could see him laugh.

* * *

Jim rounded the corner of a warehouse he had been planning to investigate and was met with a gun pointed at his face.

“Christ’s sake,” Hood said, flicking the gun’s safety back on and lowering it. “What are you doing here?”

“Presumably the same thing you are,” Jim said, carefully hiding how he wasn’t entirely certain of that. He felt like he was never certain around Hood.

The only response Hood gave to that was an annoyed grunt. Then he said, not quite grudgingly, “Perimeter’s clear. We should be okay to go in.”

_Batman trusts him,_ Jim reminded himself. _You’ve worked with him several times now, Batman trusts him, everything says he really_ isn’t _what he was before—_

But Jim had never had to walk into a building with only Hood. He’d never been around Hood without another Bat as a buffer between them. He tried to not let his shoulders tense as he walked into the warehouse, Hood trailing behind him.

“You don’t happen to have a light, do you?” Jim asked quietly.

Hood handed him a flashlight.

_Of course_.

“There aren’t any heat signatures inside,” Hood said, “And there were no sentries.” He paused, and added, “No one at all nearby.” He sounded troubled.

Jim couldn’t help but agree, because this had _trap_ written all over it.

The only question was how.

Hood rounded a mound of crates settled against a support column, and made a strangled noise. Then he was running, grabbing Jim’s wrist with bruising strength as he shouted, “Out! We need to get out _now_!”

They had barely cleared the door when the world lit up bright and furious.

The next thing Jim was aware of was a ringing in his ears and a heavy weight pinning him to the ground facedown. He blinked, a thin trickle of blood stinging as it got in his eye, and carefully lifted his head to see what was holding him.

Just as he did, Hood rolled off of him. Jim could hear him breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Hood asked roughly.

All Jim could do was stare at him.

“Commissioner, are you _okay_?” Hood repeated.

“I suppose I should have realized it was too easy to find this warehouse,” Jim said, sitting up. The warehouse was on fire. He could distantly hear sirens.

“They must have been waiting for us to go in,” Hood said. “Probably had a camera and a remote detonator.” Disgust laced his voice as he staggered to his feet. He took a few wavering steps closer to the warehouse, and suddenly lashed out, kicking a piece of rubble into the flames. “God, I am so fucking _sick_ of people blowing me up!” he screamed.

There was probably a whole history there Jim didn’t want to know. He settled for wiping some of the blood out of his eye, frustrated when more simply trickled down to replace it.

White intruded on his vision.

“Here,” Hood said tightly, offering bandages to him. His gloved hand had a faint tremor to it. “You dizzy or nauseated?”

“No,” Jim said. He took the bandages and pressed them just below where it hurt the most. At the very least, he could sop up the blood.

“Your pupils look okay, but you should still have the EMTs check you out,” Hood said.

The sirens were maybe a street or two away now.

To his credit, Hood stayed until the firemen had already started hosing down the warehouse and someone ushered Jim toward a waiting ambulance. Then Jim looked away for too long, and Hood was gone.

* * *

Jim flicked through various get well cards that had accumulated on his desk. It had apparently scared several of his officers that he had been caught in that explosion. Perhaps the most frustrating part was not knowing whether it was meant for him, for the Bats, for both, or neither.

Both he and the Bats were tracking down leads, but until they caught up with the Lewis brothers, they wouldn’t know for sure.

Jim paused on one of the cards. It wasn’t signed, but under the card’s message dark ink read, _You can keep the flashlight._

He tucked that one away in his drawer.

* * *

Hood flicked a lazy salute at the camera the next time he was caught on tape, and Jim knew that it was meant for him.

* * *

Jim walked out onto the GCPD roof, mug of coffee in one hand, and drew up at the sight of a vigilante already waiting for him. Or – not waiting for him, because Hood’s back was to him, elbows resting on the walled edge of the roof as he stared over the city. His helmet was down on the ground beside his feet.

Jim made sure to scuff the roof as he made his way over to Hood, giving him plenty of time to pull his helmet back on. All Hood did was tilt his head toward Jim, showing the clear lines of a domino mask over his eyes.

_Ah_ , Jim thought.

“What’s the point to wearing two masks?” he asked out loud.

He had finally decided there was no point in being as uneasy around Hood as he had been previously. And honestly, it was exhausting waiting for Hood to decide he was going to suddenly turn around and stab Jim in the back, so it was easier to simply act, if not friendly, then at least decently towards Hood. Almost like how he had been with Batman at the beginning of their relationship – though with more murder in Hood’s background.

(He’d seen Hood around more after the warehouse bomb. He’d even had a few conversations with him. They largely took place around other Bats, but he’d run into Hood a few more times on his own. It was easier to talk to Hood every time.

Jim tried not to think about that too hard.)

Hood huffed out a laugh. “At the risk of repeating myself,” he said, “I did it once for dramatic purposes and then I never got out of the habit.” His head tilted back so he was looking out over the city again. “Plus sometimes it’s nice to feel a breeze during patrol without the big man getting on my case about secret identities.” His voice dropped, low enough that Jim wasn’t sure it was directed toward him at all. “Not that it _matters_ for me.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Jim asked. It wasn’t usual for Hood to be here without Batman. Maybe Jim had become more used to him over the months Hood had been working with Batman and – to some extent – with Jim, but Hood still didn’t tend to seek Jim out by himself. He liked to hang in the background of the other vigilantes or let them cross by coincidence.

Hood’s face lit up with mirth. “The Demon Brat has the flu,” he said gleefully. Jim shot him a mildly disapproving look, both for the glee and the nickname. He could guess who the latter belonged to.

“Oh, relax,” Hood said, waving it all off. “He’ll be fine; he just doesn’t know his limits. He stood up too quickly earlier today and almost face-planted. Batman ordered him on bed rest, and besides the fact that Batman and Nightwing are the only ones Robin listens to, the only way to keep him from sneaking out was to make sure he was supervised.”

Which meant Batman wasn’t on the streets tonight, leaving it to the other vigilantes. Which meant that – Hood had purposefully sought out Jim.

(And given how Hood had recounted the way that Robin had apparently almost passed out, Hood must have _been_ there when it happened. Which likely meant that Hood knew who they were in civilian life. Jim had known that Batman trusted Hood, that he seemed to care for Hood, but maybe Jim had never realized just how _much_ Batman did so.

Who _was_ Hood?)

Jim took a sip of his coffee, then asked, “So why are you here?”

“I’m hurt, Commissioner,” Hood said, but he was already digging through one of his pockets. He handed over the flash drive to Jim. “Follow up from the Farina case last week. A little more evidence we pulled from their computers and the manifests we recovered from another of their sites. B wanted you to have it.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, taking the drive. He dropped it into his coat’s pocket, and pulled out the cigarette case when his fingers bumped against it. He took one, then held out the case in a silent offer to Hood. Jim was never sure how much he actually liked Hood, but it was only the polite thing to do.

“Thanks, but I don’t smoke,” Hood said, something strange in his voice. “Quit when I was – a teenager.”

That pause sounded like something hastily cut off. Probably something to do with the fact that Hood would in no way have been legal to be smoking when he apparently had been – or when he had quit, either. Behind the domino mask, he looked like he was barely into his twenties, despite the shocking white streak in his hair.

Still, Jim withdrew his offer, even tucking his own back into the case and putting it away. If it was polite to offer in the first place, it was even more necessary to not smoke in front of someone who had stopped.

But—

“You shouldn’t have been smoking that young,” Jim said, unable to let it go. “They could’ve stunted your growth.”

Hood tipped back his head and _laughed_. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, Commissioner,” he said, grinning. “And I turned out all right.”

Hood was six foot two if he was an inch, nearly rivaling Batman, so Jim supposed he was right. He looked out over the city himself, suddenly sad, because he remembered other conversations like this. Years and years ago now.

“You know, Robin used to try to bum smokes off me,” Jim found himself saying. “The second one. He didn’t try for very long, but he was persistent while he did.”

“Yeah,” Hood said, and it should have only sounded like the agreement someone made to indicate their interest, but Jim looked over. Hood had a crooked smile on his face, and the lights of the city and the precinct caught on his hair and the domino mask and the high collar of his armor just right—

_Oh my god._

The smile wasn’t quite as cocky as its teenage version, but it still fit the same on his face. The smoking habit, confessed to being broken. The _trust_ Batman and his fellows put in Hood, even after the kinds of things he’d done.

Jim took a staggering step back.

“What?” Hood stood up straight, one hand making toward the gun strapped at his side, ready for any threat.

“You’re him,” Jim said. “You’re him, aren’t you. The second Robin.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Hood breathed, the hand dropping from his gun. He was staring at Jim, aghast. “Oh, shit, you – how did you – fucking _detectives_ –” He took his own step away from Jim. The edge of his boot brushed against his helmet.

_Red Hood killed people._

“I’m not supposed to know that, am I,” Jim said. A statement, not a question. He was overcome with his own kind of horror.

“Jesus,” Hood said. And he – stopped. Tamped everything down, straightened his posture, met Jim’s eyes through his mask. “Fucking _detectives._ I should have known.”

Jim got the impression that Hood’s eyes were sliding past Jim’s now, avoiding his gaze. It wasn’t easy to tell under the mask, but—

“It doesn’t matter,” Hood said. “That you know. It doesn’t matter. Not to me, I guess. Not if—” And Hood hesitated, before spitting out, “Not if it’s you.”

“You died,” Jim said blankly, unable to think of anything else to say in the face of a dead child’s (a murderer’s) trust.

_I went to your funeral_ , Jim didn’t say. Barbara had barely been out of the hospital, fighting with her wheels to make her way to the grave, and even then Jim had known her tears weren’t just for the boy she had spent evenings teaching math to.

Jim had looked the other way regarding the Waynes and their secrets for a long time, but it had never been harder than at Jason Todd’s funeral.

Hood didn’t say anything.

“What—?” The question lodged in his throat, because he didn’t really want to know what had happened to the laughing fifteen year old he had known. He didn’t really want to know how Robin had died. He didn’t want to know what had made Robin _this_.

(Unless Robin hadn’t died. Unless it had all been a trick. A cruel illusion.)

It didn’t matter what he wanted.

“The Joker,” Hood said, words obviously torn from him. “A warehouse. A bomb.”

_I am so fucking_ sick _of people blowing me up!_ Hood screamed from Jim’s memory.

Jim wanted to be sick. He hadn’t looked at Jason’s autopsy report; he hadn’t want to know what had killed Robin then, either.

He knew how much the Joker hated Robin. Oh, god, he didn’t want to imagine what the Joker had done with a child in his mercy.

“And you—”

_Lived_ , Jim wanted to say, because Hood was standing in front of him, undeniably alive.

_Died,_ he knew, because he had been at the funeral, because he had seen Bruce Wayne and Batman both in the aftermath, because when he had met the new Robin in his red-yellow-green he had had one shining moment of _hope_ before he realized the truth and it crushed him all over again.

Hood stared at him for a long moment. “…I woke up,” he said finally. The words were unbearably slow. Jim wasn’t sure he had ever said them out loud before. He wasn’t sure why Hood was telling _him_. (Except Robin had always trusted him, hadn’t he, and Jim hadn’t paid attention to it, but Hood had always trusted him, too, in his own way.) “I don’t know – when. I dug – I – when I finally – the newspaper said he was still alive. _Batman Returns Joker to Arkham Asylum._ He’s _still_ —” Hood stuttered to a stop.

Hurt and anger were splashed across his face, but Jim knew Hood hadn’t meant for the strongest emotion he felt to be so readily apparent:

Terror.

_Twenty. He’s only twenty._

It didn’t absolve him of his crimes. It couldn’t.

(Jesus, but he had watched this child grow up for three years. He had been at his funeral. He had mourned his death. A _child’s_ death.

People in Gotham were afraid, and for good reason. Monsters like the Joker were out there, and truly, if Barbara had died, if the Joker had taken her from him, Jim didn’t know what he would have—

He wouldn’t have.

He was _almost_ sure.)

Hood wore the same face as the victims passing through the station, the ones they took statements from and too often weren’t able to do anything for. He was bone deep scared of the Joker. He wanted him gone. He wanted him _dead_.

Many days, Jim couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with that.

The silence stretched between them.

“Nice seeing you, Commissioner,” Hood said finally, abruptly, his voice thready. He stooped to grab his helmet, started for the edge of the roof—

“Robin,” Jim said.

Hood paused, face turned away, shoulders tense.

“You take care of yourself, son,” Jim said.

Hood stood there for a heartbeat, nodded tersely, and then he was gone.

_He’s alive._

The thought kept circling around Jim’s head. He was Red Hood and he was a criminal and Jim didn’t fully trust him and he wasn’t sure he would _ever_ fully trust him again or ever not be tempted to bring him in for his crimes, but he was _alive_.

_Robin is alive._

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this and honestly the last scene is the main reason I ended up writing this fic and I hope that the build up worked to get to it.
> 
> Also you will never convince me that Jim Gordon doesn't damn well know who the secret identities of the Bats are, but he looks the other way because Gotham needs them.


End file.
